“Pearl saved the day,” Justine declared.
“Well, really John did,” I said modestly.
“But Pearl was going to rescue us. She had a plan. Also, I cried, but Pearl didn’t. She remained calm, like in a fire drill.”
“I thought I heard you yelling, Pearl,” said Lexie.
I narrowed my eyes at her. “If I hadn’t yelled, how would you have known where to find us?”
“A very good point,” spoke up Daddy Bo.
Mom said, “Well, it’s been quite a night. I think it’s time for everyone to go to bed.” By “everyone” she meant Lexie and Justine and me.
So the Lebarros went back to their apartment and Lexie and I climbed into the bunk beds. Bitey settled himself on my chest.
“Pearl?” said Lexie even though she had already turned out the light and usually didn’t like to talk after that point. “Why did you panic tonight? I know you panicked too. It wasn’t only Justine.”
“Because we were trapped in the basement!” I almost added “duh” again. “Without any food!”
“Without any food? You guys had two buckets of candy with you.”
“You know I don’t like candy.” The only thing I like that’s sweet is gum.
Lexie sighed. She might have groaned a little too. “So why do you go trick-or-treating every year?”
“Because I like to dress up. And for the fun of sorting the candy,” I told her. “I like to see how much I got before I give it away.” (I always take my candy to the hospital on Eighth Avenue so that kids who can’t go out on Halloween can at least have some treats.)
There was silence from the upper bunk and I thought Lexie might have fallen asleep, but then her voice floated crabbily down to me. “Well, what kind of kid doesn’t like candy?”
I stroked Bitey’s head. “One who doesn’t have any cavities,” I replied, and realized I could add something positive to my comparison chart the next day:
Lexie Pearl
Cavities 4 0
There was another little silence and then I said, “Hey, did you know that because my teeth are perfect I get extra money from the Tooth Fairy?”
Lexie is far too old to get Tooth Fairy money anymore. Even so, she leaned over the side of the bed and peered at me. “What? How much do you get?”
“Five bucks per tooth.”
“Five bucks?! The most I ever got was a dollar fifty.”
That was the most I’d ever gotten too, but this was fun. “Perfect teeth mean a lot to the Tooth Fairy,” I said.
“Aw, man.” Lexie heaved herself back onto her bed and flopped down so hard that above me her mattress shook.
I smiled to myself in the darkness.
14
Daddy Bo and I developed a routine. Every day after I came home from school we would sit in the kitchen together and have a snack. Daddy Bo would eat our leftover Halloween candy (Almond Joy bars), and I would eat apple slices with peanut butter.
“Ah, this is the life,” said Daddy Bo on the Thursday after Halloween. He bit into an Almond Joy. Then he turned around, pulled open the drawer where the candy was kept, peered into it, and said sadly, “Only four bars left.”
“We’ll get some more,” I told him, although I wasn’t sure that was the best idea, considering what I knew about old people and dentures.
The apartment was very quiet. Dad was at work, Lexie was out with Dallas (I think they were on a date), and Mom had closed herself into her closet-office.
Bitey wandered into the kitchen, jumped two feet straight into the air as if he had seen Dr. Pritchard (Dr. Pritchard is his vet), and ran out.
We ignored him.
“Well,” said Daddy Bo, crumpling his candy wrapper, “I guess you have homework to do, don’t you?”
“Um … yes.”
I did have homework. We were supposed to write a composition about bugs, but I was not inspired by the assignment. I don’t like bugs.
“Okay.” Daddy Bo sighed.
“What are you going to do?” I asked. Daddy Bo seemed to be at loose ends. I am often in the same boat.
Another sigh. “Watch the Weather Channel, I suppose.”
I don’t like the Weather Channel except for the shots of tidal waves, which their scientific name is tsunamis. “All right,” I replied. “I’ll see you in a little while.”
I heaved an enormous, annoyed sigh, sat at Lexie’s desk, and stared at a sheet of lined paper. Finally I wrote, “I don’t like bugs.”
I set the composition aside, found my pad of drawing paper, and worked busily on a picture of a tsunami rolling out of the elevator and onto the tenth floor just as Mrs. Mott opened her door. I was making a cartoon bubble over Mrs. Mott’s head that said, “Oh, no! A tsunami has arrived in New York City!” when suddenly I realized how quiet the apartment was. I stood up and listened. No television sounds.
“Daddy Bo?” I called.
I walked down the hall to the family room. It was empty. The TV was turned off. That was when I saw that the door to our apartment was open.
Uh-oh.
I closed the door, then looked all around until I saw Bitey. “Good boy,” I said to him. “I’m glad you didn’t escape.”
I was wondering what to do next when the apartment phone rang, the one that’s connected to the lobby and the garage. I made a dash for it, picked it up, and said breathlessly, “Hello? John?”
“Hi, Pearl. Is your mother there?”
Out of long habit I answered, “Yes-but-she-can’t-come-to-the-phone-right-now.”
“Well”—John cleared his throat—“your grandfather’s down here and, um, I think someone might want to come and get him.”
A funny feeling crept into my stomach. “Okay,” I said. “Let me—”
Before I could finish my sentence, John added, “You might want to bring his shoes.”
Bring Daddy Bo’s shoes? The funny feeling grew stronger.
“Okay,” I said again, and hung up.
I ran to Mom’s door and was about to knock on it when I heard her phone ring. “What do you mean the galleys are lost?” she cried a moment later.
I didn’t know what she was talking about, but I did not like her tone of voice. I hurried into my old room and saw Daddy Bo’s sneakers by the bed. I grabbed them, ran to the kitchen, then grabbed the key to our apartment and let myself into the hall. I punched the elevator button 9x, as if that would actually make it come faster.
When it did arrive, Mrs. Mott was on it. I considered barking at her, but decided to keep her in the dark a little while longer. It was much more fun if she thought that some dog kept getting loose on the tenth floor.
“Pearl Littlefield, whose shoes are those?” asked Mrs. Mott with her squinty eyes fastened on the sneakers. I don’t know why Mrs. Mott always calls kids by both of their names.
“They’re my grandfather’s, Sheila Mott,” I replied.
Mrs. Mott shrugged up her shoulders. I was sure she had more questions for me, but my rudeness had quieted her. As the elevator doors were opening, though, she said, “Just remember who you’re talking to.” (I could see that her lips were ready to add “Pearl Littlefield” to the end of her sentence, but she thought better of it.)
“Whom,” I told her. “It’s ‘Just remember whom you’re talking to.’”I actually wasn’t sure if “whom” was correct, but sometimes it is.
“Watch your tongue,” was all Mrs. Mott could think to say.
She stepped into the lobby and we saw Daddy Bo sitting on the red couch next to John’s doorman station. Daddy Bo was chatting away about the Mets, and John was smiling and nodding—the way you smile and nod when a person you don’t know at all says hello to you, or when someone is talking to you and doesn’t realize he has toilet paper trailing out of his pants. Or when, as in the case of Daddy Bo, the person is wearing a suit and tie—and is barefoot. Daddy Bo’s legs were crossed, and he was vigorously massaging the toes of his right foot with both hands.
I ran ahead of
Mrs. Mott and reached Daddy Bo first.
“Pearl!” he exclaimed. “There you are!” Like we hadn’t just eaten our snacks together.
I shot a look at John, then jabbed my thumb in the direction of Mrs. Mott, who had stopped to inspect the cleanliness of the mailroom, and had just turned on the light with the tip of her cane.
John nodded at me and disappeared into the mailroom. I could hear him say, “Good afternoon, Mrs. Mott,” in a courtly manner, like she was the queen, which I’m sure she thought she was.
“John, the mailroom is a disgrace,” replied Mrs. Mott. (It was as neat as a pin.)
John took her by the elbow and steered her the long way around Daddy Bo and out the front door saying, “I’ll get right on it,” and, “Let me call a cab for you.”
By the time he returned I had helped Daddy Bo put his shoes on. “John, about the mail,” said Daddy Bo in a cheerful tone. “I was wondering why it isn’t here yet. It seems to me that it’s been coming later and later every day.”
A pained expression crossed John’s face. “Well, sir,” he said, and I realized I had never heard him call Mrs. Mott “ma’am.” “Sir,” he said again, “actually, well, actually, it already came today. Remember? You picked it up just before Lexie dropped Pearl and Justine off.”
It was true. Our mail was sitting on the kitchen counter.
Daddy Bo looked momentarily troubled. Then he said, “To quote Pirate Pearl, blimey!”
(I don’t think I have ever said “blimey,” but it did sound like a good pirate expression.)
“Daddy Bo, come on. Let’s go back upstairs.” I held out my hand to him. “Maybe you can help me with my homework. I have to write about bugs, and I don’t know what to say.”
“Bugs,” repeated Daddy Bo. “Huh. I’m not sure how much I know about them.”
We started for the elevator. While we were waiting for it I turned around and mouthed “Thanks” to John, who gave me the thumbs-up sign.
The elevator was passing the second floor when Daddy Bo looked down and noticed that he was wearing his suit and his sneakers and no socks. “Uh-oh,” he said.
We were standing side by side, holding hands. “I know,” I replied.
Daddy Bo pointed to his feet. “How did—?” he started to ask. “Where are—? Pearl, perhaps this little adventure should be our secret. Just between you and me.”
“Really?” This seemed like one of those things I should probably mention to Mom and Dad. But Daddy Bo was looking at me pleadingly, the way Bitey had looked at me the day he’d found a cockroach in the bathroom and really wanted to play with it. “All right,” I said at last.
We let ourselves back into the apartment. Mom was still closed into her office and still yelling into the phone. I returned the key to the kitchen. Then I found a pair of Daddy Bo’s socks and together we removed his sneakers, got the socks on, and replaced the sneakers with slippers.
“Blimey,” said Daddy Bo, looking very pleased with his feet.
After dinner that night I asked Lexie if I could have the bedroom to myself for a little while and she said yes because she had to practice her violin anyway. I sat at the desk, looked at the bug composition, to which I had added, with Daddy Bo’s help, “They bite and sting and some of them smell.” Daddy Bo had said it was important to back up your opinions. Then he had said, “Are you sure you don’t want to include some more details?” So I had written another sentence. “By the way, cockroaches can run really fast.” I knew this because Bitey’s had gotten away from him. “It’s a detail and an interesting fact,” I said to Daddy Bo.
I stuck the composition in my notebook so I wouldn’t lose it before I got to school the next day. Then I ripped a blank piece of paper out of the notebook and wrote:
Daddy Bo’s List Of Things To Wear (Or Bring) When Leaving The Apartment
1. Shirt
2. Pants (extremly important)
3. Belt
4. Socks
5. Shoes
6. Underwear (well no one will know if you don’t have it)
7. Jacket if it is cold outside
8. Wallet
9. Key to the apartment
10. Pearl’s map of the building if necessary
“Daddy Bo?” I called, sticking my head into the hallway.
“In here,” he replied. His voice floated to me from my old room.
Daddy Bo was sitting on the bed and his feet were bare again. I hoped this wasn’t going to become a habit because frankly his toenails could use some work.
I handed him the paper. “This is for you,” I said. “I was thinking about what happened today, and I thought a list might be helpful.”
Daddy Bo took the paper and scanned it. “What can I say? You’re a gem, Pearl. I’ll keep this handy and consult it every day.”
“Really?”
“Really. Thank you for being so thoughtful.”
“You’re welcome.” I climbed into Daddy Bo’s lap and patted his chin. “What’s this for?” I asked him.
Daddy Bo looked uncertain. “What’s it for? It’s my chin. Sorry it’s so floppy.”
“That’s okay.”
I tried to make myself laugh by picturing Mrs. Mott and the tenth-floor tsunami, but it didn’t work.
15
One Sunday afternoon I laid my pirate costume out on the floor of Lexie’s room and studied it. I wanted to be able to change it into a spy costume. I considered the hook hand and the flag and the pieces of eight and the medallion. What did a spy need? I wondered. I thought for a moment. It sort of depended on how modern the spy was. New spies needed computers and video cameras and speedy cars. Old-fashioned spies were less complicated. They pretty much only needed a magnifying glass, a fingerprinting kit, and a good disguise. Sadly, I didn’t have any of these things. Not even the good disguise, because the thing that makes a disguise good is if you can blend into a crowd when you’re wearing it, and one thing I could not do dressed as a pirate was blend into a crowd.
My whole costume was useless, spy-wise.
“Too bad, Bitey,” I said. Bitey was curled up in the exact center of my pillow. He opened one eye, licked his front paw, and went back to sleep. He wasn’t the tiniest bit interested in my problem.
My problem was that I wanted to spy on Lexie and Dallas, but I didn’t have a spy costume. My big sister and her boyfriend were in the family room doing something, and Mom and Dad had said they were not to be disturbed. So Daddy Bo was taking a nap in his room, and Mom and Dad were catching up on chores, and I was supposed to be finishing my weekend homework, but how could I concentrate on Japan and amphibians when Lexie and Dallas might be kissing in the family room?
I really, really needed a periscope.
Finally I remembered something I had learned on TV: The best way to hide is in plain sight. In other words, not to hide at all. So I casually stepped out of the bedroom, not even bothering to be quiet. I walked down the hall, humming, like I was just on my way to the kitchen for a juice box.
“Hum-de-hum-de-hum.” I paused outside the family room and took a good look in there, and in that instance I realized why not many grown-ups choose spying as a career. All Lexie and Dallas were doing was sitting next to each other at the table with their school books open in front of them and the computer on, clearly working on some kind of project.
“We have to list ten sources,” Lexie was saying to Dallas.
Well. This couldn’t have been more of a disappointment.
“Pearl?” I heard my father call from the bedroom.
“Yeah?” I grabbed a juice box.
“Can you come here for a minute, please?”
I found Mom and Dad in their room. The vacuum cleaner was sitting by the door and their bed was covered with piles of clean laundry.
“Do you need some help?” I asked, in case Dad was going to say anything about spies or spying.
“What a nice offer,” he replied. “Yes. I was just about to ask if you could fold these things and pu
t them away.” He pointed to several of the piles on the bed. “The towels go in the linen closet, and the clothes belong to you and Lexie.”
I carried the piles to our room. I tossed Lexie’s pile up onto the top bunk. Then I folded my clothes and jammed them into the dresser. I was opening the door to the linen closet a few minutes later when I heard a shriek from the family room. No one in my family shrieks like that except Lexie. And it was not a happy shriek. It was the kind of sound Lexie would make if she had found a snake in the apartment. Actually, it was the kind of sound she would make if I had embarrassed her by wandering around in my underwear and frog slippers in front of Dallas. But I had my list of rules now so there was no chance of that happening.
The door to my parents’ room was closed, and this seemed like another emergency, so I didn’t bother to ask permission to interrupt Lexie and Dallas. I dropped the towels and ran into the family room. This is what I saw:
- Dallas was sitting at the table. He was staring at Lexie. His mouth was open a little bit.
- Lexie was on her feet in the middle of the room. A deep blush was creeping across her face. She was approx. the color of the plum I had found when I was cleaning out my old bedroom.
At first I thought Dallas had tried to kiss my sister. I know I would look wild and red-faced if a boy tried to kiss me. But then I noticed one other thing in the room:
- Bitey. He was running in circles, and trailing from his mouth was a bra.
Right away I realized it was Lexie’s bra, because it was smaller than my mother’s bras, and also because it had a pink-and-yellow rose in the center between the two pointy parts. As I watched, fascinated, Bitey flung the bra in the air, pounced on it when it landed, and pulled the rose off. Then he flung the rose in the air, as if he’d caught a pink-and-yellow baby mouse.
Lexie shrieked again, and now Dallas’s face turned red.
I was wondering what would happen next when Lexie noticed me and yanked me down the hall and into our room. She slammed the door shut behind us and looked all around the room, including on the top bunk. Then she said fiercely, “Did Mom and Dad ask you to put the laundry away?”
Ten Rules for Living With My Sister Page 9
